


Better Man

by comealivedaya



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Peter isn't Spider-man, F/M, Slow Burn, friendship to romance, petermj - relationship - Freeform, spideychelle - relationship - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-05 02:32:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15160514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comealivedaya/pseuds/comealivedaya
Summary: Peter and MJ didn't always love each other. They also didn't always hate each other. However, once they got together, their love was unstoppable. Peter thought they would be together forever. Until they weren't. But what happened to break their relationship apart. To ruin their epic love?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chrono96](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrono96/gifts).



Sighing, Peter covered his face with his hands. He lay curled up on his bed, the ache of his defeat dulling every inch of him. He was surrounded by reminders of her: the nail in the wall where he’d hung a photo of them from their first date, the rings of water damage on the bedside table from where she sat her coffee cup every morning, a pale pink lipstick stain adorning the rim. He could almost smell the sweet notes of hazelnut lingering in the air as he imagined the mornings he’d spent lying in bed with her.

But it was all just shadows of memories. Peter looked at the alarm clock, angry red spelling out 2:43 A.M., and then he glanced over to the left side of the bed. Her side. He couldn’t bring himself to sleep on that side of the bed. It had always belonged to her, would always belong to her, and he felt wrong whenever he crossed the imaginary line that divided his side from hers. Impulsively, he reached out and touched the indent she had left on the mattress; within moments, he was transported through time, back to when they would lie together in bed and he would drink in her silhouette in the darkness, her curls a mess atop her head and the slight curves of her body rising and falling with each slow breath that she took.

For the past few weeks like clockwork, Peter hadn’t failed to wake up in the middle of the night, the thought of missing her still bombarding his brain. It had been weeks since she left him, weeks since she’d delicately placed her engagement ring next a note explaining that she was sorry, but she just needed to leave. The image of her handwriting on the paper, ink smudged by fresh tears that had fallen from her gentle face, was forever burned into his memory. The hurt was only magnified as he replayed the morning after she left over and over again. He knew his time with her was unforgettable, but never did he think that it wouldn’t be forever either. He thought that he had found the girl he could spend his life with, who would be with him through the best and worst times, who he could count on to be there until they were wrinkled and gray. He knew his dreams were cliche, but he never thought they’d just be dreams. He thought everything would be okay, that all of this was just one terrible nightmare, but each reminder of her snapped him back to reality, where nothing was alright and his life was falling apart moment by moment. Each day was longer than the day before and the sting of her absence chipped away at his will to live.

Had she been there, she would’ve told Peter that everything really was going to be okay and that his hurt wasn’t permanent. But he knew that these fantasies in his head wouldn’t last forever. So, slowly, Peter got out of bed, groggily placing one foot on the floor next to the other and pushing himself to stand up. The sheer effort nearly exhausted him. Head hung low, he trudged down the hallway to their kitchen. He haphazardly rummaged through the cabinet just to the left of the refrigerator, staring morosely at the contents before pulling the bottle of whiskey from the bottom shelf. Before her, he never drank, but in the wake of her absence, it was the only thing that could take him back to her. He hesitated, pondering whether he wanted to pour himself a glass or if he wanted to just throw the contents to the back of his throat straight from the bottle. With a resigned sigh, he brought the glass tumbler up to his lips, closing his eyes as the amber liquid set his throat on fire.

He plodded back to his room, bottle in hand, as his mind called back unwelcome memories of different milestones in their two years together. He recalled the happiest times, as silly as slinging flour and chocolate chips across the kitchen at one another to the intensity of dancing barefoot in the candlelight throughout their house the night he proposed to her. There had been no music but the sweet, angelic hum of her voice.

“I love you,” she’d whispered into his shoulder, a stray tear rolling down her cheek. He had cupped her face with his soft hand and wiped the tear from her eye with his thumb before leaning in and planting a gentle kiss to her lips, pressing lightly before pulling away and smiling lovingly at her. Now, Peter found himself reaching out into the air, wiping away invisible tears and wishing she was still there with him. He missed her more than ever at night, so he brought the bottle to his lips once again and took a long swig, hoping to erase the bad memories from his head for tonight. He knew it would be temporary, but maybe the alcohol in his system would help him to sleep, to take refuge within the comfort of unconsciousness for a few hours.

After half-walking, half-stumbling back onto the edge of the bed, he glanced over at his nightstand. Taken by a sudden surge of anger, he grabbed the drawer handle with his free hand and yanked hard, the contents spilling onto the floor while his other hand tightened around the bottle of whiskey. As the drawer clattered to the ground, a glint of light flashed from the mess on the floor: her engagement ring. Instantly, Peter was sick with remorse. That was the ring that he had spent six months saving up for, that he’d bought only a year into their relationship because he was so sure that MJ was it for him. Peter had never opened the drawer, precisely for this reason. Seeing the ring always forced him back to reality; it was the truth that brought him out of his own head and made him realize it was all true. She really had left him. It was like a knife to the chest.

He slowly sank into the ground, haphazardly discarding the bottle from his hand. He picked up the contents of the drawer and rearranged them slowly, bringing order back to the chaos he’d created in the heat of the moment, but he couldn’t bring himself to put the ring down. He twisted it in his grasp, staring at the pear cut diamond he had specifically designed for her. He remembered picking out that particular shape because something about it made him laugh when the jeweler had explained it to him. He’d chosen to have in encased in a rose gold criss-cross halo band with smaller diamonds laid within the band. The design itself was deeply meaningful: MJ was his savior, his life and he wanted her to always know that she had a profound impact on his life and made him a better man. He was better when he was with her.

Peter didn’t even realize that he was crying until a fat teardrop landed atop the diamond, distorting the gem’s appearance. Frustrated, he wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve before taking yet another swig of alcohol. Glancing at the remains of the bottle, he sighed heavily and chugged the last of it. As he lay down to sleep once more, he abandoned the now-empty glass, holding her ring in his hand and whispering, “I still love you, Michelle. I’ll always love you.” Finally, a wave of exhaustion overcame him and he drifted off once more.

* * *

 

The next morning, Peter woke up to a pounding headache, something he was accustomed to at this point. The ruthless hangovers that followed reckless nights of binge drinking had become commonplace for him. He would wake up, vomit into the trash can in the corner of his room, go about his day and repeat the routine day after day. But, he was tired of feeling sorry for himself. He knew that he needed to break the cycle and get better. He wanted to get better, and it was hard, but it was about time.

The breakup had taken its toll on the other relationships in his life. He wasn’t on speaking terms with Ned, who’d nearly been a victim of a bottle Peter had thrown in a drunken rage one evening, just a few days after Michelle had left him. A few of his other friends were tired of Peter feeling sorry for himself as well, and refused to associate with him until he realized that he needed help.

Now, a month later, Peter did want help. He did want to get better. The logical first step was to clean their apartment in an attempt to move on. Maybe cleaning would help him to move on, to see that there was still a semblance of civility left within him.  
He started in the kitchen, reorganizing the contents of his cabinets and scrubbing the grime away from the stove and the countertops. As he moved through the kitchen, throwing away old leftovers and brushing away the dirt that had built up along the walls and on the countertops, he realized just how much he had neglected his health and surroundings in wake of her absence. He’d barely cared about anything, only stopping short of actively hurting himself because a part of him still believed she’d be hurt by it too.

Peter had been so absorbed in his own pain and suffering that he’d refused to see the decay around him. But he knew that needed to change. He needed to change in order to find normalcy, to rediscover himself. He was lost, but he didn’t want to be.

Moving from the kitchen to the living room, Peter began picking up the empty beer bottles and the flasks that now housed dark spots of mold. He begrudgingly made his way through his house and cleaned, picking up the pace once he figured out how to push back against the echoes of her memory that assaulted him in every room. It wasn’t until he had made it to the closet and found a grey shirt, a faded Led Zeppelin logo across the chest, that he had to stop and sit down. He remembered that day more vividly than anything else.

* * *

 

_“I can’t... I just can’t,” Michelle sobbed as she ran out of the auditorium, just days before their decathlon team was set to drive to Washington, D.C. for nationals. Peter had overheard her arguing on the phone with her mom before practice, and he could tell she was more anxious than normal, but he’d never expected her to run out of practice like that._

_Michelle was always the level-headed member of the team. Somewhat sarcastic and often a loner, she never showed emotion and he kind of started to believe that maybe she was a robot, an experiment placed in Midtown to see how teenagers lived. But there were these rare moments, just glimpses into her life, when Peter realized that maybe she was human after all. That maybe she used sarcasm and cynicism to mask her hurt, to hide away from all the pain that she had faced outside of school. It was almost like she wanted to seem tough so that no one would ask her how she felt._

_But Peter saw right through her. Running out after her, he looked left and right and decided to go right. He had a feeling that he knew where she was hiding. Making his way down the stairs, skipping steps, he got to the basement of the high school in what had to be record time. To his left was the abandoned dark room that the photography class used before their program became digital. He knew he would find her there._  
_Entering through the rotating door, his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness of the room before landing on MJ in the corner, trying to conceal her sniffling and choking back her sobs. “Go away loser,” he heard her call out as he walked over to her. He had to admit, she was pretty good at masking her voice. Pretty good, but not good enough._

 _“I don’t think so, loser,” he retorted before sitting down next to her and putting a hand on her knee, the fabric of her cargo pants pulling as she flinched in response to his touch. He knew that she wasn’t used to affection, so he set his hand in his lap instead. Bravely, Michelle reached for his hand and entangled her fingers in his._  
_“I’m sorry that you’re hurting,” Peter said quietly as he gazed at her in the dark, tears still silently rolling down your face. Quietly, he noticed the faded letters on her favorite band t-shirt were shadowed by dark tear stains. “I get hurt, I understand it. Your pain is real and I know you don’t really want anyone to know that you’re hurting, but I know you are and I want to let you know it’s okay, Michelle.”_

_“MJ,” she whispered, barely audible._

_“What?”_

_“MJ, my friends call me MJ. You can too,” she said, a little louder this time and a little more confidence in her voice._  
_He smiled at her and said, “You can always talk to me about whatever’s bothering you. I’ll understand. You also don’t need to feel pressured to say anything. I’ll understand that too.”_

_He almost didn’t hear her whispered thank you, but he definitely did hear her urging him to shut up until they had to go back to practice. After a few minutes had passed, he stood up and offered his hand to her. She took it meekly as she stood up as well, and he turned to her to wipe the tears from her eyes. “Can’t show them you’re weak, right?” he joked as they made their way through the rotating door. As they returned to practice, an unspoken agreement had formed between them. From that day forward, whenever MJ was upset or needed someone to talk to, she would go to Peter and he would open his arms to her, no questions asked. She didn’t have to talk to him, but even just sitting next to him, feeling the warmth of his cheek against her shoulder as he embraced her was enough._

* * *

 

Peter sat down and scrunched up her shirt in his hands, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. He thought he was able to push past his hurt, but now this memory, this image of a vulnerable Michelle was pushing him back to his dangerous habits.

“We were too young, too dumb,” he choked against the cotton. “How could we know things like love? Too young, too dumb… too young, too dumb.” He continued to sob against the fabric of the shirt until it was soaked through completely.

“I should’ve known better then,” he mumbled, feeling himself begin to spiral out of control, “but I know better now.” He didn’t want to allow himself to go down the same path he was working hard to get back from; he knew he needed help. He couldn’t do this alone. Pulling out his phone, he unlocked it and made to call Ned to ask for advice, for help. But before he could, the phone began to vibrate and an all too familiar song began to play from the speakers. He looked down at the Caller ID in disbelief and nearly dropped his phone as he read out the contact name.

 _Michelle Jones_.


	2. The Loft

_ MJ sat with her legs crossed, book haphazardly splayed across her lap. She wasn’t in the mood to indulge in any interactions with her rather moronic teammates so instead there she was, hidden away in the corner of the gym. Academic Decathlon was one of the only clubs she willingly attended, but there were still days where she wanted nothing more than to be curled up with a good book, away from the hectic humdrum of daily life. The energy she was forced to exert in the presence of others took a toll on her emotional well-being, and some days were more difficult than others. Today seemed to be exceedingly difficult for MJ, but she knew she had to push forward and just make it through the hour-long practice before she could leave and go back home to where she had wanted to be. _

_ From her bangs falling to obscure her face to the metal chain that was so meticulously looped onto her belt ring, MJ looked frightening to other classmates, intentionally forging a barrier between herself and the other students of Midtown. They were apprehensive, unsure of what would happen were they to try and approach her. Would she open up to them or use her cynicism as a scare tactic, forcing them to stay away from her? For the most part, they wanted to avoid confrontation so they kept her at arm’s length, close enough to make conversation with if necessary but far enough away to ignore her otherwise. However, Michelle preferred it that way. She knew that if people got too close to her and she let them in, it would only end badly for her, so she nipped it in the bud before she could even allow herself to become close with them. _

_ “Okay everyone!” Liz cheered, enthusiasm radiating from her voice. “I know Nationals is only a few days away, so I figured we could start off this practice with a round of quickfire questions. You know,” Liz continued peppily, “just to warm us up, get our brains flowing and all. I have paired you off into teams of two. Flash, you and Abraham are a duo. Cindy and Sally, you two can work together. Joey, I have you paired with Ned. And, Michelle, you’re with Peter.” Michelle groaned, then slammed the book down next to her as she assumed her position on the seat to the right of the stage, her arm accidentally grazing Peter Parker’s as she took a seat, sending chills up her spine. She quickly brushed off the feeling she got as purely reactionary because of a chill in the auditorium, but she couldn’t help but wonder what this feeling was that she felt for Peter or why she felt anything at all. _

_ She normally wasn’t paired with Peter, since they were the two best teammates and generally challenged the others, but today was different and she couldn’t help but wonder why as the questions began to fly at them. She answered each one with ease, ringing the bell as soon as a question had been called out. A few times, Peter beat her to the ringer, but it allowed her a moment to collect herself and regain composure before answering question after question once more.  _

_ After they had answered close to what had felt like over a hundred questions, MJ had started to grow tired of the process, fervently hoping it would end soon so that they could move onto the next exercise or take a break. “ _ _ Both humans and chimpanzees share a common ancestor. If you were to compare their genomes, you could be able to determine-” _

_ “How long ago the two populations, the populations of humans and of chimpanzees, separated and began to evolve into their own distinct species,” Michelle deadpanned as she set her hand down on the silver bell, a small ding emanating from the bell. _

_ Liz smiled before replying, “That is correct. Nice job, Michelle! Okay, I think that was the last question I had prepared for the first round. I figure we can take a few minutes to grab water before we reconvene and go over team strategies so that we can best prepare ourselves for what’s ahead of us. We won nationals last year, so I’m hoping that if we set our priorities straight and if Peter doesn’t bail last minute again, we’ll be able to defend our title as reigning champions.” _

_ “Hey!” Peter objected, his almost childish outcry met with laughs from the other decathlon members and their supervisor, Mr. Harrington. “I had a family emergency, you can’t blame me!” _

_ “Okay, loser,” Michelle chuckled incredulously. “You had a family emergency right before three of our four biggest competitions last year. That excuse has officially been worn out, Parker.” _

_ “And how would you know that?” Peter began to get defensive, eyeing Michelle wearily as he crossed his arms and leaned away from her, a defense mannerism MJ was all too familiar with. _

_ “I’m just observant, that’s all.” _

_ “Right…,” Peter scoffed, his frustration becoming more and more apparent,”  _ observant _. Is that what you call knowing literally everything about every single person who goes to this school? It isn’t hard to be  _ observant _ when you refuse to make friends with anyone. I mean, it might do you some good to have at least one friend.” _

_ “Are you joking? Why would I even want to be friends with losers like you guys? I mean, c’mon, Peter, it’s not hard to see that I have better things that I could be doing with my life than sitting through practice, but here I am!” _

_ “I mean, judging by the way that you always try to chime in with something to say, but never do or the fact that if you do say anything, it’s laced with sarcasm and negativity, it isn’t hard to guess that you want friends, you just can’t make any. But, hey, I guess I’m just being ‘observant.’” _

_ Before Michelle could fire back once more, Mr. Harrington intervened and said that if anyone wanted the break they had been promised, they should utilize it before he forced them to return to practice once more. Rather than continue to argue with Peter, MJ stood hastily, brushing nonexistent dirt off of her pants before making her way to the water fountain across from the gymnasium. She stood idly to the side as she wallowed in her own thoughts. On any normal occasion, she never allowed herself to become vulnerable, to feel emotion in front of other people. But Peter was different. He made her feel a multitude of emotions all at once, from hatred to some feeling she wasn’t quite able to put a label on, and she could feel herself growing angry for even allowing herself to feel something at all.  _

_ What felt weirdest to her was that Peter was always unbelievably nice to her even when no one else was, but today he lashed out at her. He was one of the few people who MJ could normally tolerate because of how he carried himself and his kindness, but for some reason, the arrogance that he displayed when he felt threatened confused her. She became a target of his aggression and anger and it ultimately hurt her feelings. She knew disappointment was inevitable, even from someone as loving and charismatic as Peter, and she could feel herself closing herself off to him, no longer wanting to tolerate him, or even “like” him as she thought she could. He would hurt her eventually, so she knew she had to keep her distance from him. It was always better to hate someone than allow them to get close, in Michelle’s opinion at least. _

_ She spent the rest of the practice completely engrossed in her own thoughts, over-analyzing each detail of her two interactions with Peter. There was an ever-growing sense of rage emanating from her and after Liz concluded the meeting, reminding them to try and stay confident and to remember they were going to do phenomenal if they set their minds to it, MJ rushed out of the gymnasium and fled far away, seeking asylum. She hated to be so lost in her thoughts; she could not afford to be trapped in such an anxious state, and she needed an escape of some sort. Struggling for a few moments to remember, she knew exactly what she needed to do. _

* * *

 

_ Coughing slightly, MJ apathetically passed the joint she held between her fingers to the dark-haired boy next to her. The smoke wafted up through the slits in the moldy ceiling vent, creating a cloud that hugged each of the people in the room, the odor seeping into their clothes and through the pores of their skin. It wasn’t the most ideal spot to get high, but she knew that she would never be able to smoke in her own home, her overbearing mother keeping a careful watch over her every activity. The penthouse of the abandoned apartment complex, known as the loft, had become her own personal oasis in the concrete jungle: it was a place where you didn’t have to hide from tigers or lions, a safe haven from the outside world where the real predator could be the person walking beside you down the street. There was no way to distinguish who could be trusted, so MJ chose to trust no one, to let nobody near enough to hurt her or to never put herself in a situation where she could be perceived as vulnerable. _

_ Being in this room allowed MJ to let loose, to adopt a different persona than the one she so desperately hid behind regularly. This was one of the few places where she felt safe, as if the judgment that was so normally attached to her was left on the other side of the entrance to the loft suite. Names and labels were not of importance at the loft. It was a safe haven for all who sought refuge, regardless of their background. Individuals coming from all walks of life found a way to make the small, abandoned building their home, from homeless LGBT youth to girls like herself who needed an escape from their home life. Everyone was welcome and was free to be as open or closed as they pleased. _

_ To her left, MJ found one of the few people she considered a friend, Bronte. Gangly and ghostly, Bronte was the epitome of every soft grunge fantasy. Her hair fell just below her shoulders, ebony with reflected hints of copper and chocolate against the glow of the afternoon sun. She was dressed in an oversized maroon sweater with tattered, black jeans clinging to her legs. The clink of her military boots could be heard as she tapped her foot repeatedly into the ground, impatiently waiting for the joint to reach her lips once more. Bronte fidgeted with her round glasses, pushing them up against her forehead before chuckling slightly at Michelle and shaking her head knowingly. _

_ To Michelle’s right sat a dark-haired boy. Though she had met him on several occasions, she had never bothered to learn his name. The angst he emanated was personally familiar to MJ, but she couldn’t find an ounce of warmth in him, nothing that proved he felt any emotion. He sat with his back against the wall, phone in hand. He paused to look up every so often to locate the joint, but aside from that, he was absorbed completely in his own thought. Like Bronte, he too wore tattered, black skinny jeans and adorned military boots, but he chose to forgo a maroon sweater in favor of a beaten leather jacket and black, fitted tee shirt. Had it not been for his off-putting attitude, MJ thought he could be akin to a modern day Danny Zuko. _

_ Together, the three teens, as well as a few other vagrants, formed a circle. They met there most days after school. Some days they smoked weed, other days they turned to alcohol, sometimes they even found comfort in the silence as long as they knew they were in each other’s company. The most gratifying aspect of the loft was the feeling of belonging that each person was given. No matter how active a person was to the community, they were still considered family, something MJ so desperately cherished. She was a less active contributor, but she was still welcomed with open arms, accepted for who she was, or at least who she thought she was: a loner who couldn’t quite find a way to accept affection of any sort.  _

_ MJ took a few more hits from the joint, savoring the THC entering her system before standing up off the floor and wandering over to the tiny window overlooking the Manhattan skyline. The sun hadn’t begun to set quite yet and the days were getting longer, but she could smell the slight fragrance of the flowers blooming from the park a few blocks down as well as the aroma of pizza wafting up from the pizzeria two doors down. It was a rather intriguing combination of odors, the stench from the marijuana, the fragrance of the flowers in the breeze, and the savory aroma of fresh pizza. Altogether, they became rather unpleasant, but they still made MJ smile lightly to herself. _

_ Michelle could feel the energy shift on the balcony as Bronte strode toward her, glancing back over her shoulder to make eye contact with one of her closest friends. MJ smiled meekly, then stuck her hand out for Bronte to take which she accepted gratefully. Together, they stood in silence, soaking in the warm rays from the fleeting afternoon light for what seemed like forever before MJ turned to face her friend and sighed. _

_ “I wish we could stay forever like this. At the loft, just enjoying the feeling of everyone being here. Away from all the problems the real world throws at us. With all that goes on out there, it’s nice to have a place where I can just do my own thing, be my own person.” _

_ “You’re right,” Bronte mused. “The great thing about the loft is that all of us are outcasts out there, but nobody feels out of place here. This place isn’t like everywhere else.”  _

_ “I feel so lost at school sometimes if I’m being completely honest,” MJ added. “I feel as if I’m alone, but whenever I think that I want to open up to someone, they do something to turn me off to them and then I feel so alone again.” _

_ Frowning, Bronte glanced over at MJ and rested her hand on Michelle’s shoulder, attempting to comfort her friend without showing an overwhelming amount of affection. “Hey,” Bronte said, her voice instantly softening, “did something happen?” _

_ Her voice breaking, Michelle cried out, “I don’t want to like him. I really don’t. I was fine with tolerating, not letting him in my life. But he hurt me today. I didn’t expect his words to hurt, I thought I could brush them off.” _

_ “What do you mean? Who hurt you?” _

_ “Peter,” MJ sighed as she wiped the stray tear that fell from her eyes. _

_ “Peter, who?” _

_ “Peter Parker. This dumb kid who I’m in Academic Decathlon with. Except, he isn’t dumb. He’s incredibly smart. He lives with his Aunt May because his parents died when he was little. But that hasn’t stopped him. He’s always kind, except for when he’s not. Today was the first time I’ve ever seen him angry at anyone. And it was me who he was mad at.” _

_ “Why was he mad?” Bronte questioned. _

_ “I made a comment that I guess offended him and he took it too far. I made fun of him for missing the majority of our competitions last year for Academic Decathlon and he got mad at me and made fun of my lack of friends at school.” _

_ “I see,” Bronte added. “Do you think you hurt  _ his _ feelings and that’s why he wanted to hurt yours? Maybe he wanted you to feel the same way he felt?” _

_ MJ sighed and shook her head, realizing she was in the wrong. The world wasn’t always black and white, but it was easier to make it seem that way, to fit everyone into categories. “I think what’s weird is that even though he was mad and trying to hurt me, he still showed concern, saying I probably still want friends. I think he sees right through the act that I put on at school and I hate him for it. Well, I don’t hate him, I guess.” Michelle groaned and placed her head in her hands. “I don’t know how I feel about him anymore and it sucks! I feel so helpless, so out of control. I can’t figure out how I feel about him and it’s killing me inside.” _

_ “I think what you need to do is think this over. Give yourself time away from him, but also try opening up to him. Do it slowly at first and take as long as you need. But you have nothing to lose if it doesn’t work out. I’m still here for you and I still care about you as a friend. And, by the sound of it, Peter wants you to have friends and maybe he wants you to be friends with him too. You don’t have to act on my advice, just think it over, love. It won’t hurt anything,” Bronte added, removing her hand from MJ’s shoulder and placing it on the balcony once more. _

_ MJ nodded, giving her silent approval to Bronte’s comment. Their conversation afterward was intermittent, but it was good to have someone who valued the quality of what they said over how much they said. Eventually, MJ bade her friend goodbye as the orange of the sunset signified that she had overstayed her welcome and needed to return home. _

_ As she sped down the fire escape, MJ was brought to her senses once more. Out of the corner of her eye, a glimpse of mousy brown hair and an oversized royal blue jumper meant that Peter Parker was making his way home.  _ Well, fuck,  _ MJ thought _ , this would be just my luck. _ It wasn’t that she hated Peter, per se, but it was much simpler for the both of them if they crossed paths sparingly and only interacted when absolutely crucial.  _

_ Sinking back into the shadows, Michelle hid until she knew that Peter had passed the building and his presence could no longer pose a threat to her peace. Peter himself was not threatening, but since MJ felt as if she could not control her own emotions, she felt it best to stay away from the very person who caused her to feel so helpless over her own feelings and avoid confrontation because of their earlier altercation. MJ craved control. She felt as if she was constantly at war with herself because though she tried to keep such a tight routine, something always went wrong. There was always something that tried to derail her life in one way or another, whether it be her chaotic home life or her experience with her peers at Midtown. Nothing in Michelle’s life was a constant and nothing was ever positive or helpful, so she often felt as if she needed some semblance of control over something in her life. If she could control the way that she felt or how she reacted to something, that was good enough for her. _

_ Slowly sliding down the rest of the fire escape, MJ pulled the hood of her jacket over her head and peered warily around the corner, afraid of Peter still being in the vicinity. The twilight lingered above her as she walked block by block back to the townhouse her family owned, relishing in the warm spring air. As her walk grew to an end, the apartments began to turn into townhouses, rows lining the streets with trees, a much more residential feeling than the urban vibe characteristic of the Bronx. _

_ After turning onto her street, MJ paused and her breath caught. She was utterly taken aback. Parked on the left corner of the block was a silver Mercedes sedan. Older than most of the cars parked along the block, it still stood apart from the rest because of its pristine condition. Michelle knew that could only mean one thing: her father was in town. Her parents had divorced four years ago, but judging by the amount of time her father spent with her mother, she knew that there was some sort of suspicious activity at play. Unlike her mother, MJ hated her father passionately. He had never been kind to her and treated her as an inconvenience to his plans for his life. She was an afterthought to him, someone who he only cared about when it was convenient for him. _

_ MJ blindly fished her keys out of her bag and unlocked the door to the townhouse, stepping through the threshold to the entryway. Bellowing out an unenthusiastic, “I’m home,” she took off her shoes, made her way up the staircase, and walked straight to her bedroom. She wanted to avoid confrontation so she locked the door behind her and plopped back down onto her bed, staring at the ceiling for a moment and scoffed incredulously as the sound of her mother’s moans emanated through the wall, quiet at first and growing louder at an alarming rate. _

_ After locating her headphones to drown out her mother’s screaming, MJ pulled out her computer. She never had much homework to do because she always finished in class so it was no surprise that she found herself on Peter’s Instagram page. She told herself not to do it, not to give into her feelings, but she couldn’t help herself. There was something about Peter that was so intriguing. He could be selfish and arrogant, but he was also intelligently and had the ability to be incredibly kind. He was never outwardly rude to MJ, before today anyway, nor did he ever find pleasure in bullying her as many of their classmates used to before she found the courage to fight back, but he never made an effort to try and befriend her either. _

_ Though she didn’t have any sort of real friends, she always wondered how her life would be different if she could reach out and actually make connections with other people. Sure, she scared everyone away with her standoffish attitude and was absolutely terrified of opening up and allowing others to see her in a vulnerable state, but that didn’t mean that she never craved attention, that she never wondered what it was like to feel the touch of another human, to feel love or compassion. What a beautiful thing it would be to have someone love and cherish her in a way that she could only imagine, to be considered beautiful in someone else’s eyes.  _

_ As Michelle scrolled picture by picture through Peter’s profile, she imagined herself friends with him, maybe even with everyone on the decathlon team; she could feel the smile growing across her face as the scene unfolded in front of her and her imagination grew wilder and wilder. There she was, sitting with Peter, Ned, and Liz, a huge pizza sitting on the table between them. They were all just enjoying themselves as they shared the food in front of them, laughing at Ned’s horrible jokes even though they weren’t funny and at Liz’s crazy stories from various vacations she had taken over school breaks. They actually enjoyed each other’s company and for once, MJ felt comfortable and at home with other people. They sat for hours and just talked with one another. No one tried to exclude her or make her feel unwelcome, Michelle was just as much a part of their friend group as Liz or Ned was. As Michelle imagined the scenario, she could feel herself craving friendship more and more.  _

_ Just as every fantasy ends at some point, the loud rapping of her mother attempting to knock on her bedroom door brought her back to reality, and she instantly slammed her laptop shut. She stood up swiftly and hurriedly collected herself before she went to open her bedroom door, allowing her mother to enter her room.  _

_ “Why was the door locked, Michelle?” her mother interrogated her, disapproving eyes scanning over MJ’s body and then over the room. “And why are you dressed like a slob? It isn’t becoming of a lady like yourself. Your hair is tangled and knotty and your clothes make you look like one of those people who are so socially inept that they can’t make friends. Michelle, if you were more like the other girls at school, I’m sure you would be more liked. And I’m sure you wouldn’t be such a disappointment to me and your father, that’s for sure.” _

_ “Mom, you aren’t even with Dad anymore, so why would that matter?” _

_ “Your father and I are still co-parenting so we both have a say in your life. And if we find you to be a disappointment, that’s our choice.” _

_ “I should be able to live my life,” Michelle tossed back, frustrated at her mother’s constant, unrelenting harassment, “without your criticism! If you really loved me and cared for me as your daughter, you wouldn’t care how I lived my life.” _

_ Her mother shook her head, angrily spitting back, “How could I love someone so disappointing? How could I love someone who can’t do one thing right, dresses like a slob, and is so rude and unpleasant to be around that my friends ask me if I’m embarrassed to have you as my daughter?”  _

_ “That’s great, Mom. Glad to hear I’m such a disappointment to you. It’s really great to know that my own mother doesn’t love me the way she’s supposed to.” _

_ Her mother continued to berate MJ while she just stood there and let the criticism soak in, accepting defeat. She knew her mother would never have anything positive to say about her and while she did fight back from time to time, there were times like this where she felt as if these small battles between them weren’t even worth fighting. There was nothing to say that would change her mother’s mind, so MJ preferred to just stay silent and let the remainder of the argument run its course. _

_ Eventually, MJ’s mom decided her yelling was getting her nowhere, so she returned to her own bedroom and Michelle was by herself once more. Frustrated and upset, MJ turned back to her laptop and was ashamed to see Peter’s page still occupying her screen. Hastily, she closed the window and tried anxiously to shake off all of her thoughts about Peter. Because if her own mother couldn’t love her, how could she expect anyone else to? Peter wasn’t any different. Peter would never be able to love her, or even like her, and she knew it. Tears threatening to spill from her eyes, MJ put all of her stuff away and crawled into bed, turning off her bedside lamp as she glanced at the clock and slowly closed her eyes, hoping tomorrow would be better for her. She knew she wasn’t loved, but maybe if she slept, she’d be able to forget her troubles for even just a moment. Peter could never really care about her, but he could always be there for her in her dreams and for now, that was enough for her.  _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry for the delayed update, I've had a hectic last few weeks. I really hope you like this update. I had a few reservations about posting from Michelle's POV, but I hope it was worth it in the end. Please let me know what you think and I hope you enjoy this next chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, I just want to thank everyone so, so much for taking the time to start reading this fic. I want to specifically thank a few people before I truly get started with this. I want to thank chrono96 for telling my ass that I needed to start writing. I want to thank the SBF Hoes for being the most supportive group ever. And lastly, I want to thank Jen for helping edit out my typos.
> 
> Feel free to follow me on Twitter @comealivedaya


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